Always
by clair beaubien
Summary: Alternate Universe. Bucky is back from war with severe PTSD. Steve tries to take care of him but it's not always easy.
A dull thud woke Steve. Of course. It was early and it was Saturday, so of course something woke him up when he wanted to sleep in. He lay still a minute, listening, hoping he could figure out that the sound was nothing so he could go back to sleep. Probably Bucky closing a door too loud. They'd moved into an old house with a few too many doors that Buck was constantly checking behind, so that had to be it. Bucky.

Then Steve heard a louder thud that was followed by a strong breeze pushing into his bedroom. That made him sit up. A breeze through the house meant that the front door was open. The front door open meant that Bucky had left the house without telling him. Which meant that Bucky was wandering the town, looking for the house he'd just walked out of.

Which meant Steve had to go after him.

He yanked on his clothes and boots and hurried down the open staircase, out the open front door, across the lawn and onto the sidewalk. It was barely six a.m. Maybe Bucky hadn't been gone long. Maybe he hadn't gotten far.

A desperate look in all directions showed no Bucky so Steve locked the front door and got in his car. Bucky was usually drawn to the center of town. Steve didn't know why, if it was the noise and activity of people and cars, or the storefronts, or what it was. He didn't know and Bucky couldn't tell him, but that's where he usually went during his PTSD 'hide & seeks' so, even though there probably wasn't much activity this time of the morning, Steve started his search there.

Sure enough, he found Bucky half a block past the main intersection, sitting on the steps of the St. James Catholic church. Steve parked at the curb and walked up to Bucky, sitting down next to him on the top cement step. He looked worried and contrite but he looked unharmed.

He was dressed in his usual clothes, old boots, dirty jeans, a ratty black t-shirt, Steve's leather jacket, fingerless gloves and a greasy baseball cap. He hardly ever changed his clothes, only when he bathed and that was hardly ever. At Steve's urging one warm afternoon, he'd taken off the hat and the jacket but he'd spent the rest of the day on a miserable edge of panic and Steve never bothered him about it again. Some battles weren't worth winning.

Buck looked at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "I forgot," he said.

"I know, it's okay. This was a good place to sit. C'mon, let's go back."

They drove back down the street to their house. Steve pulled into the driveway and shadowed Bucky into the kitchen through the back door. Maybe he needed to alarm the doors or have a cell phone permanently attached to Bucky.

Maybe both.

"Have breakfast yet?"

"Can I have cereal?"

"Yeah, sure. Of course. Anything you want."

Bucky poured himself a bowl of knock-off Lucky Charms. "You want cereal?" he asked, even though Steve was making himself a bagel and coffee.

"No, thanks. I'm all set."

So Bucky put away the cereal and milk and sat at the kitchen table. He ate a few mouthfuls. "I'm sorry." He didn't look at Steve when he said it.

"No, don't - don't." Steve tried not to sound angry or disappointed or frustrated but he was pretty sure it didn't work. "You're fine. It's – it's all fine."

Bucky kind of nodded and kind of shook his head. He ate another mouthful of cereal and milk ran down his chin and he wiped it off with his hand, then wiped his hand on his jeans and gave Steve a guilty look.

Steve didn't say anything about the napkins sitting on the cupboard behind Bucky. Some battles weren't worth winning.

"Did you take your pills this morning?"

"Yeah. I mean, I think so. I mean, I don't remember. Maybe not. No." Bucky shoved his chair back with a squeak of wooden chair legs against tile floor and retrieved his pill box from the top of the microwave. It was one of those segmented, flip top plastic containers, with a compartment for every day of the week. Six lids were already flipped up. "I don't know - is - what's today? Is today -" he showed the container to Steve. "Is today 'S'? The second 'S'?"

"Yeah, today is 'S'. Saturday."

"I should take these then," Bucky said. "Right?"

"Right."

Bucky flipped the top and dumped the pills into his hand – one each for depression, anxiety, psychosis, migraines. And iron, because on top of everything else, he was anemic. He dumped the pills into his hand and set the container back on top of the microwave, got a glass of water and swallowed the pills loud and hard.

"I should refill that," he said, jerking his head to the pill box.

"Finish your breakfast first."

"Yeah. Oh - yeah. Yeah. Okay." He sat back at the table. After a few more mouthfuls of cereal and wiping his mouth with his hand and wiping his hand on his jeans, Bucky said, "I'm sorry you have to take care of me."

"I'm not," Steve answered immediately and sincerely. "I'm sorry you're hurt but I'll always take care of you. You always took care of me."

"You didn't need taking care of."

"Yeah, I did. You just did such a good job, it only seemed like I didn't."

Bucky looked at him, puzzled. He finished his cereal and put his dishes in the sink. He picked up the pill box and stared at it, open and empty and needing to be filled. "I'm sorry you have to take care of me."

"I'll always take care of you."


End file.
